


Fictober Collection

by dillonmania



Category: DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Autistic Character, Comedy, Coming Out, Drama, F/M, Family Dynamics, Ficlet Collection, Fictober, Flash Rogues, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Hell, Humor, Prison, Relationship(s), Scottish Character, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania
Summary: All my Rogue ficlets written for Fictober 2018, based on the prompts fromhere.





	Fictober Collection

**Author's Note:**

> Not all prompts were completed due to lack of time. This was an experiment of sorts, as usually I spend a very long time editing and polishing my fics, and simply didn't have time to do that for these ficlets. It was really freeing to not edit my work to the point of exhaustion, but I don't know if I'll be able to do that for my regular fics.

**Day 1: “Can you feel this?”**

His eyes are closed and he's exhausted, but is still awake. Conserving his energy for recovery, but wanting to experience every moment of life. Corporeal existence is painful and so limiting, though it's all a being yearns for when the gift is taken from them.

"Can you feel this?" Roscoe asks with a slight smile, weakly reaching a hand out to Lisa, and she grasps it. Still cool to the touch, but she no longer feels like she's holding an icy corpse. "The heartbeat is steady, and the body is warming as blood begins to re-circulate to its extremities. Soon I'll be fully alive again."

And she embraces him with all she has.

* * *

**Day 2: “People like you have no imagination.”**

Roy sighs as Len makes the face all the Rogues know so well: that disapproving scowl, the face puckering into complete contempt and disapproval for the idiots around him. But for once he seems to be at a loss for words.

"You mean to tell me..." Len eventually begins slowly and Roy eagerly nods, "that you want to paint the hideout in our themed colours? Green and white polka dots for Piper? Blue and white fuckin' boomerangs for Digger? Scudder’s weird orange? Those godawful stripes that Jesse and Dillon wear?"

"Yes!" Roy enthuses. "It'll make the space truly personal and into a place that's genuinely _ours_. I'm sure that kind of nurturing environment will empower us towards bigger and brighter successes in crime and all our other personal endeavours!"

"I'd rather we constantly failed."

“People like you have no imagination,” Roy huffs primly.

* * *

**Day 3: “How can I trust you?”**

“How can I trust you?” Barry asked desperately, because the clock was ticking and he was nearly out of options.

James smiled slowly at him with a sly expression which did not inspire confidence. He was Reynard amongst the hens, and never before had he seemed more like a trickster; deliberately so, Barry thought. “You can’t. But you need someone to watch your back.”

* * *

**Day 4: “Will that be all?”**

“You are so slow!” Lisa groused, and Roscoe’s face cracked a slight smile for the first time that afternoon.

“I don’t recall you complaining about it before.”

“Ugh, you know what I mean!” she grumbled with rolled eyes, tossing an empty shopping bag at his head. “You can walk faster than that!”

“Not so much when I can’t see where I am going. I’d rather not run into a wall or trip over someone’s darling child.”

“Kids be damned; this is war,” she announced with determination, forging on ahead as he lagged slightly behind, laden down with his heavy burden.

“Can we at least sit down for a bit?” he asked plaintively, but she pretended not to hear him because she’d finally sighted her quarry.

“Hurry up! Look how busy it is in there!” she cried out in genuine distress, and actually sprinted into the store as he let out a heavy sigh.

“....I don’t see why _I_ have to go in too,” he mumbled under his breath, and finally took a stand: he plopped himself down on the ground outside the store because all the benches were taken. And there he stayed for an hour, alternately dozing and glaring darkly at anyone who stared at him.

“I thought you’d gone home,” Lisa chided when she returned, carrying a worrisomely large stack of boxes which she immediately presented to him.

“I don’t suppose any of this is for me,” he observed wryly, and she scoffed.

“Not unless you want jewellery and perfume. I mean, I wouldn’t judge, but you’ll still have to get your own because this is _mine_ , bitch.”

“Of course, of course,” he snarked as she loaded the new boxes onto the massive pile he was carrying. It completely blocked his vision and frequently threatened to tip over, but that was his problem, not hers. “Will that be all?”

“Oh no, we still have two more stores to go to. Holiday sales only come once a year!”

* * *

**Day 5: “Take what you need.”**

The young man comes creeping in the back door, stealthy and anxious and looking guilty. He pulls out a bag and hurriedly dumps food from the fridge and pantry into it before darting to his room in search of money and a passport.

“What are you doing?” a voice calls from behind him.

“Mom!” Mark jumps fearfully, before taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I did something and have to skip town for a bit. I’ll be back in a few months when it’s all blown over.”

Her face immediately despairs and then hardens, because this isn’t the first time he’s gotten into trouble. “What did you do?”

“I stole a car and crashed it...into a police station. It was really stupid,” he answers, embarrassed. He can’t read the expression on her face, which frightens him more than the situation he’s facing. At least he understands the outcome of what the police will do to him, which is vaguely comforting in its certainty. 

“I see,” she finally says after fifteen seconds of agonizing silence. “Take what you need, but don’t come back.”

* * *

**Day 6: “I heard enough, this ends now.”**

The heat and cold guns powered up simultaneously with an ominous whine, and Mick and Len stared each other down.

“I’m sick of you treating me like some kind of secondary Rogue!” Mick bellowed, at which his partner in crime snorted derisively.

“I give you more than you deserve, and we all know it.”

“For cryin’ out loud…” James complained from across the table, though a glower from both men quickly silenced him.

“So you recruited me, big deal! I pull my own weight around here, and you take a cut of my share just because of that. It’s not right,” Mick grumbled. He lightly pulled at the trigger of his gun, causing a few flames to flicker out of the muzzle, and the other Rogues shuffled their chairs back a bit.

“Then shoot me if you’ve got the balls,” Len challenged him. “But you don’t. You’re weak, and that’s why you’re in the lower tier of Rogues. It’s pathetic.”

“I’ll show you balls…” Mick growled, grip tightening on the gun and trigger, and that’s when Sam shoved the table against them and jumped to his feet.

“I heard enough. This ends now.”

“Dammit, Sam! If we don’t get this outta our system it’s just gonna keep happening,” Len protested, but Sam held a small mirror towards them with a stern glare, and the implication was clear.

“Don’t care. Have your dick-measuring contests outside Rogue territory,” Sam said forcefully, his gaze never wavering. He was usually an easy-going leader and a good man to get along with, but could always be counted on to push back when necessary.

“Fine. This isn’t over, Snart,” Mick muttered in a low voice, though one sharp glance from Sam reminded him to keep it to himself until they’d left the hideout. But Sam didn’t notice Len’s returned glare and nod, which told those who _had_ seen it to maybe avoid bar-hopping with Len or Mick for a while.

* * *

**Day 7: “No worries, we still have time.”**

James liked to make an entrance and locks were basically optional for him, so he swung open the door to Hartley’s apartment with a theatrical flourish.

“Piper? There a reason you didn’t show up at the Bureau’s meeting today?” he called.

“Leave me alone, James,” came a distinctly irritated reply. The voice was emanating from the bedroom, so James walked in with a hand covering his eyes in comedic exaggeration. This would normally get a few exasperated chuckles from Hartley, but today he was silent. So James dropped the hand and the humour, and now looked sincerely concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Don’t concern yourself with it, and I’ll be back at the office tomorrow.”

“Hart, it doesn’t take a conman to see that something’s truly bothering you. Try me, I’m a really good listener.”

Hartley let out a pained grunt and fixed James with a frustrated stare. “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”

“Of course,” James assured him, fingers obviously crossed behind his back. Hartley knew it, but decided to unburden himself anyway; it wasn’t like he had many people to talk to at this point in his life.  
“So today’s the anniversary of my parents’ murder,” he began, and James’ eyes widened. He couldn’t believe he’d missed such an important event, as it was the kind of thing he took pride in remembering and was even a professional requirement for a confidence man who liked to know everything about everyone.

“We often didn’t see eye-to-eye,” Hartley continued, “but they were the only parents I had, and I know they loved me. I loved them. And I can’t help but feel partly responsible because Mirror Master murdered them just to get at me…it makes for weird feelings of grief, guilt, and confusion. I’m not in a good headspace right now.”

“That’s completely understandable and you can take all the time you need,” James said with concern, his face a bit pale. He spent some time in thought, and then brightened. “Do you think it’d help to visit their memorials, to maybe pay your respects and think about what’s going on in your head?”

“It might,” Hartley conceded, “but their graves are in Central City and it’s getting rather late. Maybe it’s not worth it, and maybe they already think I’m a bad son for not showing up.” 

James cast him a sympathetic look, feeling almost heartbroken by the downcast look on his friend’s face. “Don’t worry, we still have time and we’ll get there. And Hart, not only are you a _great_ son, but I know your parents are so proud of you.”

* * *

**Day 9: “You shouldn’t have come here.”**

Lisa had been paralyzingly lethargic for the last day or so, showing little interest in meals and even less in exercise or recreation. She hated prison, and her brother seemed content to let her stay there for a while; he might have been too busy to spring her, but she assumed he was angry at her for disobeying his counsel not to harass the Flash. How could he understand her feelings, anyway?

“Dinnertime, Snart,” one of the guards called as she slipped a meal into the cell, though Lisa completely ignored the woman and the food. Roscoe was dead, she’d failed to hurt the Flash as he’d done to her, and the world was passing her by as she languished in that cell. Rage could only drive her so far when she was completely powerless to do anything, and the melancholy of grief had set in.

“Where did it all go wrong?” she asked softly under her breath, and there was a familiar chuckle beside her.

“I’d think it was when my brain overheated.”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Roscoe, you’re not real. I’m imagining things like the last time.”

“Well, not in the flesh, as it were. But I’m here to keep you company in your hour of need…I wish I could do more to help, but I’ll need a body first.”

“If you’re real -- and I’m not saying you are -- tell me something I couldn’t possibly know to prove it’s you.” 

The voice paused for a few moments before speaking. “I left a diamond bracelet for you under your bed before I died, and you haven’t found it yet.”

She flushed. It suddenly occurred to her that she couldn’t know if it was true until she was out of prison, but seemed like the kind of thing he would do and so he had to be real….or maybe she might be hallucinating him saying it because she expected that of him. Her head was so muddled, and she was having such difficulty thinking straight.

“You shouldn’t have come here. I’m not at my best right now,” she admitted quietly, still not lifting her forehead from her slump on the table.

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” he replied, and she could hear the tender smile in his voice.

* * *

**Day 10: “You think this troubles me?”**

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re completely out of burgers,” the employee said politely, a concerned look on her face. The customer in front of her seemed like the type to be difficult.

“You think this troubles me?” Dr Alchemy announced with an imperious smile. “Let my Philosopher’s Stone transform those soggy French fries,” -- he gestured towards another customer’s order -- “into glorious beef patties so there will be burgers for all!”

“Sir, that’s really against Health and Safety regulations…” the employee began, but there was a bright flash of light from the weird rock he held.

And a puddle of goo where the fries had been.

“Um,” Al said nervously, all gravitas lost. “Just a second.”

Another flash of light, and now the goo was a different colour. But with chunks.

“What the hell happened to my fries?!” the other customer demanded, staring in disbelief at the horrible remains of his order.

“That should have worked!” Al exclaimed in frustration. “It always works! One moment, please!”

Now the chunky goo looked vaguely like cottage cheese.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the employee said firmly, and Al scowled.

“You can’t throw me out! Dr Alchemy _takes his leave_ ,” he sniffed with all the renewed dignity he could muster. He flipped his cape over his shoulder, and began stalking away in a manner befitting a supervillain.

And then slipped on the puddle of soda another employee was diligently mopping up.

* * *

**Day 11: “But I will never forget!”**

Axel and Evan cackled together. They didn’t typically spend much time with each other and very little of that involved socializing, but there was one life-threatening activity which united them as a duo.

“Okay, so you have to make sure to angle the portal just like this,” Axel instructed as he sketched a rough outline on a piece of paper, and his colleague nodded.

“Aye. It’s nae tricky,” Evan said confidently, possibly unaware that he’d just suitably punned. Axel himself nodded approvingly at such a quality reference. _Sometimes Scotty’s an okay guy, he mused silently_.

“Just make sure ya do it right in the heat of the moment, bro! You only get one chance. And I’ll have the ammo ready.”

They exchanged another good laugh and a high five before splitting up to take their positions and to wait for their prey….

….who soon walked in whistling a (classical, pretentious) tune.

Evan opened the mirror portal in just the right place and aimed it precisely as he’d been told, while Axel let loose the weapon.

“What the flying fuck?!” Mark shrieked furiously as a Boston cream pie came out of nowhere to splatter all over his face, and the conspirators laughed hysterically. The two of them had to hold each other up because they were laughing so hard.

“You…you…” Mark sputtered as he wiped cream filling out of his eyes. His perfectly-coiffed hair was _ruined_ , and he’d be damned if the others found out about his extensive moisturizing regime because of what they’d done. Lightning began to crackle ominously around his eyes, and Axel realized it was time to go.

“Let’s jet, yo!” he called, and the duo disappeared instantly via another mirror portal. Mark, however, was now literally steaming, as it turns out that pie cream begins to cook when exposed to large quantities of electricity. Len was confronted with a puzzling sight when he came running in to find out what had happened.

“You jerks think you’ve gotten away with this. But I’ll never forget!” Mark vowed angrily. He promised to be ever-vigilant and to never let them prank him again.

Which didn’t help the next time.

* * *

**Day 12: “Who could do this?”**

Barry thought he was going to tear out his hair in dismay. All the preparations for Iris’ birthday had been completely ruined: the elaborate cake had been tossed against the bathroom wall and splattered everywhere in a terrible mess, and the decorations had been carefully torn up. The gifts had been run through a cycle in the dryer, and Barry ultimately found the birthday candles hidden in the strangest places throughout the house for the rest of the month.

Somebody had even pooped on the couch.

“Who could do this?” Barry lamented unhappily. The guests were due to arrive at any moment…and worse, so was Iris.

“It was me, Barry! Me!”

* * *

**Day 13: “Try harder, next time.”**

The boy swallowed uncomfortably, and his eyes darted from side to side. He began to rock a bit in his chair until the teacher cleared her throat.

“Roscoe. Stop it.”  
He willed himself to come to a halt, but kept his eyes fixed on the desk in front of him because he really didn’t think he could handle eye contact right now.

“Look at me,” she commanded, and he forced himself to look briefly into her eyes before quickly tearing his gaze away. His anxiety was spiking, and he was nearing panic.

“You failed another test,” she told him firmly, and he nodded rapidly.

“Please don’t tell my dad,” he said in a small voice, at which she frowned.

“We’ll see. You’re not the brightest boy in the class, Roscoe, but you’re not stupid either. Why do you keep failing?”

He said nothing about the stress he felt when he wasn’t allowed to rock in class, or when his tops were confiscated with unkind words from authority figures. That the voices around him and the bright lights above were overwhelming and often made it difficult to concentrate, and that the other kids whispered about him and mocked the behaviour which seemed perfectly normal to him. And the _my son should be a champion_ and _why can’t you be like the other boys_ rhetoric he constantly heard at home made him bewildered and feel like a failure, and only increased his anxiety.

“I don’t know,” is all he said in the same small voice.

“Well, try harder next time,” the teacher told him, and he nodded again because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Yes, ma’am. I will.”

And the cycle continued.

* * *

**Day 14: “Some people call this wisdom.”**

“Hartley, please, you’re making a scene.”

The young man ground his teeth together in frustration, because he’d heard this so many times before. _Any_ disagreement was “a scene”, and quite unseemly for a Rathaway. They were held to a higher standard on account of their wealth and breeding, and blah blah blah. He knew it was all nonsense.

“It’s not a scene, Mom, I’m just telling you the truth about myself. I’m gay, please accept it.”

“How can you be sure?” Osgood asked coldly.

_I mean there’s all the guys I fantasized about and the one I kissed at boarding school before getting expelled_ , Hartley thought to himself, but he knew they really didn’t want to hear it.

“I just know. How did you know you were straight?”

Rachel flushed. “We just don’t want you to rush into things, dear. You’re a Rathaway, and I’m sure this won’t last forever.”

“Fuck being a Rathaway!” Hartley finally shouted, startling the nearby maids. If they were going to keep complaining about making scenes, then he was damned well going to give them one.

“Hartley!” Rachel exclaimed, her face expressing shock, while Osgood just looked apoplectic. 

“For your sake I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he announced with barely contained fury. “But I expect you to take the time to reflect on what you’ve done, and your announcement today…to that end, you will be subjected to a nine PM curfew or you will lose your weekly stipend.”

“What?! I’m seventeen years old!”

“I’m doing it for your own good, son; who knows what kind of unsavoury individuals will otherwise take advantage of you? Some people call this wisdom.”

“I call it prejudiced bullshit!”

“You obviously need a time out,” Osgood seethed. “Go to your room, and stay there until you can keep a civil tongue.”

“Fine,” Hartley muttered as he picked up his music player, and tears stung his eyes as he ran up the grand staircase to his room. “I can tell when I’m not wanted anyway.”

* * *

**Day 15: “I thought you had forgotten.”**

Len didn’t really enjoy celebrating holidays because they reminded him of what he and Lisa had missed when they were growing up, but he reluctantly acquiesced because she yearned for the “normalcy” of what those celebrations represented. Thus he found himself helping to decorate a Christmas tree at her apartment one chilly evening, although ‘helping’ actually meant watching and drinking while she hung ornaments.

“I find this really calming, y’know?” she idly observed as she placed small golden balls on a tall evergreen. Their family had owned a small plastic tree during the Snarts’ youth, and in adulthood she was determined to have real ones.

“Oh yeah?” Len replied as he swigged his beer. He didn’t find it soothing at all, mostly because it reawakened old ghosts within his memories.

“Just the act of creation, I guess. Making something beautiful and a thing to remember out of separate parts,” she said with a shrug. “Roscoe liked the repetitive actions of hanging the decorations, and there might be something to that too.”

Len waited for the tears to come over her dead boyfriend, but instead she smiled sadly at the memory. Maybe she was learning to cope with her grief, and that was itself worth celebrating.

“Oh geez, here it is!” she exclaimed after a few minutes of placid silence, and Len craned his neck to look as she pulled something from the bottom of a box.

“What is it?”

“My little blue Santa! Well, I guess it’s actually your blue Santa…” she began, holding it out to him with a wide smile.

“…that you made for me in second grade, and gave to me that Christmas,” he replied, smiling broadly himself for the first time all evening. She looked absolutely delighted by his words, and now a few happy tears escaped as she hugged him.

“I thought you’d forgotten, Len.”

“Never. I never could.”

* * *

**Day 16: “This is gonna be so much fun!”**

“Everybody ready?” Len asked. The Rogues stood on a roof across from the bank they were planning to rob, making their last-minute adjustments of costumes and technology as the boss reminded them of the schedule.

There were general nods of eagerness all around, so they prepared to move out.

“This is gonna be so much fun!” Axel enthused, readying to throw a batch of T-bombs. “I’ve been tinkering with these babies to make the boom bigger, and I can’t wait to see everyone run for cover.”

Len frowned, though Axel didn’t even notice. “Is that what you’ve gotten out of being a Rogue, kid?”

“Hell yeah! Makin’ people scared and showing everyone who’s boss! It’s the best!”

Mark and Evan glanced at each other and took a step back, and in an instant Len had already smacked the bombs out of Axel’s hand. They rolled harmlessly across the ground, as they hadn’t been armed yet and Len knew it.

“Hey, what gives?!” the boy protested indignantly. “ _You_ let me have the T-bombs!”

“Right, for use against the Flash or armed cops. Not against civilians who aren’t putting up a fight,” Len told him sternly, and pulled him from the air with a rough tug of his shirt. “They have their place like all tools, but a Rogue doesn’t use them indiscriminately.”

“Well, _I_ do,” Axel glowered from the ground, and Len stepped closer to stare down at him. At 6’2, Len loomed over most people, and at this moment Axel suddenly realized just how tiny he was.

“ _Not_ if you want to be a Rogue. Remember that,” Len said sharply. “If I catch you tormenting civilians during this job -- or any job -- you’ll be out on your ass and take your chances with the Flash alone. Understand?”

“Yes,” the boy muttered in a sullen tone, humiliated. He expected the Rogues to walk away and make him chase after them, but Len offered a hand to pull him up.

“The Rogues will always have your back, kid…you just need to play by the rules,” Len said as he helped Axel to his feet. “I hope you learn that sooner rather than later.”

And then they moved out as a group.

* * *

**Day 18: “You should have seen it.”**

Mick had very few opportunities to read outside of prison these days, and frequently found himself yearning for quiet downtime ever since he’d passed his fortieth birthday. So of course Axel came running over not ten minutes after he’d curled up with a good book.

“Oh man, Mick, last night was so much fun and you shouldn’t have missed it!”

“Is that so?” Mick replied with very little interest, not taking attention away from his book, but if Axel noticed this he didn’t really care.

“Yeah, you shoulda seen it! McCulloch was getting so stupidly high and doing stunts with his mirrors, and uh…drugs are bad and not at all funny. See ya!”

“What? What’s going on?” Mick asked in confusion. He turned around to find Len glowering at them as Axel hastily retreated.

“Don’t encourage him, Mick” is all Len said dourly before trudging back to the kitchen, and Mick resolved to water down his beer for the next week. It always drove Len nuts because he never knew who was doing it, and the satisfaction of revenge was completely worth the price of less peace and quiet. This time Mick would try adding something new, perhaps one of those artificially-flavoured zero-calorie waters that Len normally wouldn’t touch “because they taste like ass”. The boss was going to be _so pissed_.

Ah, but he wished the others could see this.

* * *

**Day 19: “Oh please, like this is the worst I have done.”**

“Thawne! Why do you torment me?” Barry pleaded, looking at the remains of his living room and particularly at the awful turd on the couch. “And did…did you eat a burrito before coming here?”

“Yep,” Eobard said proudly. “With extra beans and cheese. The food in this time period is delicious, by the way.”

“It is! I’ve been to the future and everything’s so bland there, and -- that’s not important. You ruined Iris’ birthday!”

“Oh please, like this is the worst I have done.”

_He’s got me there_ , Barry thought ruefully. 

In the end, there didn’t seem to be much point to chasing him out, so Eobard ultimately attended Iris’ scaled-down birthday party and proved to be a surprisingly charming and popular guest. He zipped out to replace the wine bottles he’d broken earlier, and regaled the crowd with witty bon mots about academia while artfully eating wiener hors d’oeuvres. Everyone agreed he was perfectly behaved and contributed a lot to the evening’s success. He made sure to publicly de-pants Barry before leaving, though.

* * *

**Day 20: “I hope you have a speech prepared.”**

The day had come when Central City was invaded by aliens from a planet the Rogues had never heard of. The villains were prepared to defend their city just as the Flash Family was, but word was dispatched to the superhuman community that the aliens wanted to talk.

“We should go while we’ve got the chance,” Len told Sam, who nodded. Time was of the essence, so he pulled Roscoe aside and told the other Rogues to keep watch for any nefarious activity…and fight back if needed.

“Stay alert,” Sam warned his colleagues as they approached the alien delegation. “I’ll be watching your backs for signs of an attack, and if so then I’ll get us out of there ASAP with a mirror portal. You guys will do the talking.”

“Luckily that’s Dillon’s favourite activity,” Len smirked, and Roscoe glowered at him.

Sam seemed a bit stressed out by the squabbling and gave them both a stern look which told them to knock it off if they valued their lives. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he turned to Roscoe with the most businesslike demeanour he could manage. “I hope you have a speech prepared.”

“You know I always do,” Roscoe replied briskly, and cleared his throat.

Ten minutes later, he finished his spiel about the Rogues and what skills they possessed, detailing their power levels and those of the Flashes, and letting the aliens know in strong terms that nobody would allow their city to be taken without a fight. There was some adept exaggeration about how much raw power the superhuman community had at their disposal, but not enough to be an obvious lie, and the aliens listened attentively.

“The Grand Hegemony must confer,” the alien spokeswoman declared after he’d finished speaking, so the Rogues stepped back to their corner to allow the officials to discuss matters.

“I knew you like to hear yourself talk and all, but _damn_ ,” Len whistled with genuine admiration. “That was some quality bullshit.”

“Thank you,” Roscoe said coldly, well aware of the insults embedded in his words but still pleased with himself anyway.

“I didn’t see anything threatening while you were talking…” Sam mused aloud to himself, but still kept a watchful eye on their surroundings.

One of the aliens then banged his staff on the ground a few times to get everyone’s attention, and all those assembled held their breath.

“The Imperium have decided that our attention is best directed elsewhere,” announced the alien spokeswoman. “Our resources are not infinite, and we feel there is not enough value in this place to stretch ourselves and further our explorations here. So this is farewell, humans, and may both our peoples go in peace.”

“And may peace accompany all your travels,” Roscoe answered with maximum charm and a polite bow. Len and Sam made half-hearted bows to the leadership as well and the Rogues began walking away, warily observing the aliens as they passed.

“Well, this turned out to be a huge waste of time,” one alien told another in their language as they watched the humans leave. “And by the gods, was that ever some good bullshit.”

* * *

**Day 21: “Impressive, truly.”**

“It’s twelve inches long, and slightly curved. Quite hard, but still has some give to it. Wanna see?”

“It’s quite a sight.”

“Thanks, mate, I `ppreciate that. It’s my pride and joy, after all. You can touch it, but be gentle.”

“Truly impressive, Digger.”

“Too right. I got me father to thank for it, of course…his one good legacy to me.”

There was an audible gasp outside the cell, followed by several pairs of footsteps hurrying away.

“Just what kind of operation are you running around here, Ms Waller?” demanded a familiar voice as it faded into the distance, and the head of Task Force X could be heard calmly-but-desperately offering soothing platitudes as explanation.

****

“Down Under,” Amanda Waller seethed at a shrugging Digger the next day, “I'll release you from your sentence early if you'll promise to never show off your boomerangs when _the president_ is visiting Belle Reve!”

* * *

**Day 22: “I know how you love to play games.”**

“Welcome back to Hell,” the demon said with a broad false smile. “We’d missed you for a while, but I knew you’d return eventually.”

“Yes, well. It will not last,” Roscoe muttered. His soul’s wrists were bound with an infernal substance similar to barbed wire, and just as comfortable.

“Oh, I’d expect nothing less from you,” the demon grinned, and Roscoe could see his face reflected in the creature’s chromed teeth, which had been designed for maximum intimidation. That was de rigueur for Hell and its demonic host, and something he was accustomed to. “But I’d like to make things interesting…and maybe help you out a bit.”

That kind of talk never boded well, as everything in Hell came at a steep price and was generally intended to trip you up and torture you further. Roscoe’s pulse quickened with stress, though he tried vainly to hide it because showing fear was also a very bad thing.

“Really,” Roscoe said with obvious skepticism. _You will not trap me so easily_ , he vowed inside his head. “And how would you do that?”

“I’m prepared to offer your freedom, no strings attached -- provided you’re willing to pay my small fee for it. A simple thing.”

_And there it is_. “What fee would that be?”

The demon’s awful smile broadened even further, and the captive soul flinched at how unnatural it looked.

“You must sign over the soul of your beloved.”

Roscoe’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon. No deal.”

“Oh come on,” the demon wheedled with syrupy smarm, though it was well aware how much the conversation bothered Roscoe; he was doing his best not to show fear, but it was written all over his face and delighted his foe to no end. “We already have Lisa here anyway, so it’s not a high price. You’d just need to officially sign her over to us, and you’d be free as a bird.”

“Which would legally trap her further in the Pit and make it impossible to get her out,” Roscoe said coldly. “I too know how this works. _No deal_.”

“Well, it’s not as though most of the damned get out,” the demon replied in a conversational tone, as though they were discussing the sale of a car. “The odds of her ever escaping are very low anyway. But you…you are special, and I could make your life so much easier.”

“I said _no_. Though I would absolutely trade her brother’s life and soul for my freedom.”

“Yes, I suppose he did kill you this time around, didn’t he. It’s an interesting offer, especially because we had him earlier but Neron foolishly gave him back,” the demon mused. “What about tossing in the lives of your other former friends?”

Roscoe thought about the other Rogues for a few moments. He didn’t exactly have fond feelings for them, as they’d thrown in their lot with Cold and seemed happy to let him rot in prison, but he didn’t hate them enough to send them to Hell. He still considered them family, after all, and had hopes they’d someday accept him back. “Just Len,” he said firmly.

“Ah, well, that isn’t good enough. As you said, _no deal_ , so back into the Pit you go,” the demon chuckled with obvious glee. “And I think you’ll find it rougher there than usual for some reason. But maybe I’ll make you the offer again in a decade or so, to see if you’ve changed your tune…you might be eager to throw everyone you love under the bus after you’ve suffered under Belial’s special attention for a few years. Take him away,” it instructed a nearby minor demon.

“I do not need you, and will escape on my own,” Roscoe spat as the lesser demon yanked him by the barbed wire, hurting them both. But that’s what the minor ones were there for.

“Of course you will, of course! Hold out that hope in the Pit, my friend. But if not, you’ll be begging to sign away your beloved’s soul and jump through any number of hoops to get out of here. It will be very entertaining, and I know how you love to play games. We do too.”

“Do your worst,” the damned soul muttered as he was led away, and the demon grinned ever further. They certainly would.

* * *

**Day 24: “You know this, you know this to be true.”**

Mark tested the straps holding him to his chair, finding them uncomfortably tight and probably impossible to break. He was completely at Warden Wolfe’s mercy, and the warden kept walking in slow circles around him as though he were prey.

“Do you remember our last conversation?” Wolfe inquired, but Mark gritted his teeth and said nothing. Of course he remembered that strange searing pain as he’d been interrogated during his prison intake; it had been extremely traumatic, as was the beating afterwards.

“I know you’re not enjoying this,” Wolfe continued, stating the obvious. “You’re a control freak, a man who manipulates the weather to his own whims, and you completely hate this loss of control over your own life. But that’s what Iron Heights is all about: showing you the consequences of your own foul actions, and giving you a taste of what you dish out to people on a regular basis.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “I’m not claiming to be a choir boy, but we Rogues go out of our way to not harm innocents.”

“Oh, is that so? Wasn’t your brother an innocent, Wizard?”

“I didn’t kill my brother! I told you that last time!” Mark retorted furiously. His face had turned red with stress or exertion, and Wolfe knew he was futilely trying to whip up a storm without his wand. 

In an instant, Mark’s muscles began to cramp and he grimaced while trying not to scream.

“I don’t _like_ liars, Wizard,” Wolfe said in a low tone, staring the prisoner right in the eyes as he squirmed with pain.

“Are you doing this?!” Mark gasped, though the warden ignored him.

“Answer my original question: did you kill your brother? I’ve read your files, and the police reports were quite thorough about the lightning at the crime scene. Don’t you have a guilty conscience? You know you want to confess to ease your mind, to let your mother know the truth. Don’t you think she deserves that?”

The pain eased for a moment, though Mark still panted with discomfort and exhaustion. “N-no…I didn’t do it,” he said through heavy breathing. “Clyde died of a heart attack.”

He cried out as the muscle spasms intensified. “You murdered him! You know it’s true!” Wolfe shouted at him in a fury.

“Why do you even care?” Mark groaned. “You’ve got me here in prison already, and I’m facing a life sentence. What does it matter?”

“Because I want to hear you say it,” Wolfe said coldly. “I want you to acknowledge who’s in charge around here. And I want you to finally tell the truth about what kind of scum you are.”

Mark took a deep breath, sweat running down his brow. “Well, I didn’t do it,” he replied firmly, eyes locked on the warden’s. “Find someone else to break.”

Wolfe stared at Mark for several moments, who continued to defiantly glower back, and threw down his nightstick in frustration. “We’re done here today, but this isn’t over. We will talk again, Wizard.”

“I look forward to it,” Mark said in a low voice, with as much strength as he could muster.

* * *

**Day 25: “Go forward, do not stray.”**

Evan was exhausted. He was sure he’d been travelling in circles or just getting increasingly lost for hours, as he didn’t see anything familiar in his surroundings. It was his first time visiting the Mirrorverse, the first real outing which wasn’t just a quick jump from one location to the next. But he was now hopelessly lost.

He pulled out Sam Scudder’s notes and studied them again. Sam had mentioned that certain phenomena in the Mirrorverse could theoretically be used to find one’s way, but everything looked the same to Evan and he was becoming increasingly worried. He knew that truly getting lost in there was likely a death sentence, and hoped he’d simply gotten turned around and could reorient himself once he’d found his bearings. It was beginning to seem unlikely, however, and he sat down to calm himself. Panic would do him no favours.

“Ye tremendous numpty,” he muttered under his breath, and even he wasn’t sure whether it was directed at Sam or himself. Maybe to both: himself for ever getting involved in this nonsense, but Sam had started the research into the science to begin with.

The notes were ultimately no help in this situation, as Sam had never run into the problem; Evan was starting to suspect that even his brief exploration today was more than his predecessor had done, perhaps for good reason.

“Ahm fucked,” Evan eventually breathed, pulling off his cowl. What good would it do him now?

“Don’t give up,” said a strange voice, and the Scotsman jumped to his feet with his gun out. He couldn’t see anyone, but that was no comfort.

“Who’s there?” Evan demanded. This place was usually completely silent, and he knew very few people could access it. Nobody should be speaking to him.

“We’ve never met, but…” the voice said, and then a man in a near-identical costume materialized in front of him. “I’m Sam Scudder. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but you’re wearing _my_ uniform and using _my_ notes.”

“Fuck off, yer not Scudder. He’s deed.”

“Yeah, I’m dead, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely gone. Part of me exists in the Mirrorverse, kind of a reflection…or an echo…of the man I was. Same thing will happen to you someday.”

“Not likely, as a’ll be trapped in here for eternity,” Evan snorted. “No reflection, just tha genuine article.”

Sam chuckled slightly. “That’s why I’m here: I want to help you escape. Pretender to my name or not, nobody deserves this fate.” 

“Ye would do that f’r me? How do a’ know ye willnae trap me further?”

“Are you really that suspicious or that stupid? You’re already stuck here, so what would I have to gain? Trust me on this, because you’re not getting out otherwise,” Sam said incredulously, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe that this man was the legacy of his life’s work.

“Fine, ya weapon. Whit help can ye give me?”

“You’re welcome,” Sam replied with obvious irritation. “Look, as a reflection within the Mirrorverse, I understand it better than anyone living, because I’m a part of it. To start, you’re going to want to travel in that direction.” He pointed it out with an ethereal finger.

“Tha’s where a’d been coming from, so a’ was travelling farther fae home.”

Sam nodded. “Correct. And there’s one crucial trick to finding your way in here: you need to follow the law of reflection, which is—”

“--the angle at which tha light ray approaches tha mirror surface is equal to tha angle at which it departs from tha mirror,” Evan interrupted him, at which Sam smiled.

“Exactly! You can gauge the direction of the mirror gates by the angle of the light reflecting off them, and that will help you tell up from down, and whether you’re travelling in the right direction. And that will help you find the gateway you want.”

Evan scribbled this down in his own notes, and then looked up at Sam with obvious admiration. “Thanks, man. Ye haven’t just helped me tae find ma way home, ye’ve helped me understand this place better f’r the future. A’ appreciate that, an’ ahm glad to have met ye. Yer wairk is top notch.”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave you to die,” Sam admitted with a bit of self-consciousness, if only because he didn’t want to be trapped with his successor forever. But he’d learned something too. “I was wrong about you, and I think you’re a worthy legacy after all…and you deserve a chance to improve your skills and make something of yourself. We were all new once.”

“Aye, well done,” Evan nodded respectfully, and shook the hand which was offered to him. “Thanks.”

“All right, get going and remember what I told you,” Sam said with a slight smile. “Go forward, and don’t stray from the path. Good luck, and say hi to the guys for me.”

* * *

**Day 29: “At least it can’t get any worse.”**

“So, we lost Digger.”

Sam sighed. “We didn’t lose him, he’s just gone to chat with the Flash.”

“Like I said, we lost Digger,” Len retorted. “He’s drunk and the Flash is gonna figure out who he is eventually…he can’t pretend to be someone else to save his life.”

“Look on the bright side! At least we won’t have him around anymore!” James said in a chipper tone, and the others gave him the stink eye.

“Yeah, and we need his amazing aim for the heist tomorrow, so he’s screwed everything to hell. Remember?” 

“Fine, I’ll go retrieve him if it means so much to you,” James grumbled with a theatrical flair, bouncing over to the conversation between Barry and Digger.

Digger was regaling the other man with a series of crass jokes, ending one punchline with “It’s just regular porn, you sick freak!” and Barry looked like a deer trapped in headlights. He mouthed _help me_ at James when he arrived, although the Trickster was not so merciful.

“Ah, Melvin, me old mate, I see you’re tellin’ the classics!” James brayed in his best Australian accent.

“Too right, mate,” Digger slurred, and everyone could smell the booze on his breath.

James laughed, though Barry was looking increasingly uncomfortable with the public gang-up. “I got a real bonzer one, mate: What do you get when you mix Goat DNA and Human DNA? Kicked out of the petting zoo! Eh, mate? Eh?” he chortled, nudging Barry in the side with the best impersonation of Digger he’d ever done.

“All right, that’s enough!” Barry finally declared as he jumped to his feet and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He clapped them on James’ wrists before the conman could say anything, and drunken Digger got about two steps away before another pair was placed on his own wrists.

“Hey, what the hell?!” James protested in his fake accent, while Digger sputtered unintelligibly and dropped his beer on the floor.

“You’re being a public nuisance, and let’s see if a night in lock-up and a stiff fine changes your attitude to drinking and lewd jokes,” Barry said firmly as he led them away.

“You can’t do that! We have rights!”

“Of course you do, but did you really think I wouldn’t do something when confronted with the Trickster and Captain Boomerang? You’re both wanted men, you know,” Barry grinned, and James just gaped. He cast a _I’ve made a terrible mistake_ glance at Len as he was led out of the party, and Cold simply face-palmed from his spot in the corner.

“At least things can’t get any worse,” Sam said in a tired voice, and that was the moment Roscoe chose to tipsily trip and hit his head.

“….you just had to go there, didn’t you?”

* * *

**Day 30: “Do we really have to do this again?”**

Len sighed heavily, because he was really quite tired of this discussion. “Dillon, you know you’d be shit at leadership. Why d’you even _want_ this job?”

“You are wrong. I have the ambition and intelligence required for the position, one who can truly exploit the Rogues’ potential and use it to reach the heights we deserve. You have them robbing safety deposit boxes for piddling scores every other month when they could be wealthy and powerful beyond their wildest dreams,” Roscoe said scornfully. His expression was haughty but otherwise difficult to read, which was basically his default setting these days, Len mused to himself. 

“I told you before, we don’t want to live like that. You really need the Justice League breathin’ down your neck all the time? And you know what the Flash could do to you if he felt like it…he’d put you in traction, and none of your fancy smarts could do a damned thing about it. He’ll turn a blind eye if we’re just picking off the occasional bank and not hurting anyone, but he could murder us all if he wanted to and you know that.”

“I have contingency plans for the Flash and the Justice League.”

“You’ve always been crazy, Dillon, so I’m looking after you by keeping you from hurting yourself. But more importantly, I’m protecting the guys. It’s easy for some of them to get dazzled by dumb plans and I don’t want Mick to get himself killed following your delusional ass. You don’t know how to look after guys like him and McCulloch, and you never did.”

Roscoe immediately bristled, and Len worried he might have pushed him too far. He could read the other Rogues quite well, which helped him to rein in their worse tendencies and care for their psychological needs, but Roscoe had been mostly unpredictable since his death. This made him incredibly dangerous.

“Do we really have to do this again?” Len asked, pulling out his gun to visibly protect himself. Both knew he’d already set up a cold field around himself as insurance and it would even the odds in a fight.

“Every time. And we are going to keep doing it until you die or I fail to return to the living.”

A slight smile played on Len’s face, his lips both tightening and curling with determined amusement. “Okay then. Let the best man win.”


End file.
